


Underestimation

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Izaya has made an art of underestimating Heiwajima Shizuo." Izaya teases Shizuo and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underestimation

Izaya has made an art of underestimating Heiwajima Shizuo.

It’s nearly a necessity at this point. If he adjusts his mental calibration he might actually  _succeed_  in one of his attempts to get the blond killed, and Izaya is honest enough with himself to know he doesn’t really want that. He’ll never tell Shizuo that, of course, but there’s a charm in having such a regular opponent, someone who will always be hating him from a distance, someone he can whip into a fever pitch of fury just by letting himself be seen.

Even now with Shizuo’s teeth scraping against Izaya’s shoulder, there’s a fire under the contact, hatred and desire in equal parts. It’s no surprise, at least to Izaya, that hatred flames hotter than love. That’s always been the case for him, and for Shizuo...well. If the blond cared enough to not hurt him, they would never have made it this far before the other man pulled back to a safe distance.

Shizuo’s hand closes on Izaya’s shoulder, grips so tight Izaya can feel his bones aching under the pressure even before Shizuo shakes him back to the present.

“Don’t  _ignore_  me, Izaya-kun.” The words come out past gritted teeth, Shizuo’s perpetual cigarette long since abandoned in favor of closing his mouth on the skin exposed by pulling the other’s shirt aside. For his part Izaya’s left his knife tucked in against the back of his waistband, reached out for Shizuo’s clothes with only the threat of his fingers, and just at the moment the only danger he presents is that of tearing off a button by pulling too hard at Shizuo’s dark vest.

“You  _did_  miss me,” Izaya purrs. He’s laughing even before Shizuo growls into his face, throws him by his shirt hard enough that Izaya stumbles several feet across the room before he can get his feet under him. He recovers faster than Shizuo can catch up with him, though, darting through the apartment to the bedroom so he can turn around to smirk at Shizuo from the doorway.

“No need to be rough, Shizu-chan.” He steps backwards quickly as Shizuo lowers his chin and storms forward, moving until he hits the bed and can drop back to sit, spread his legs as invitingly as he can manage. “I can be very compliant for you.”

Shizuo hisses, comes in close so he can plant one knee on the bed alongside Izaya’s hip. The room is dark still -- neither of them paused for the lightswitch -- and in the shadows Shizuo’s eyes catch the light from the window, the city sparkling behind his sunglasses. He’s leaning in too close, forcing Izaya backwards, but the other doesn’t lean back as far as he’s supposed to; he waits until Shizuo is bearing him down bodily, maintains his grin even as the other closes his fingers in a fistful of dark shirt. It’s only Izaya’s quick reflexes that keep him from getting dragged sideways when the other man pull the fabric up; he gets his arm up in time, though, falls back to the bed and twists sideways so the shirt peels up off his head instead of tangling him in it. Shizuo makes a growling noise of protest, as though Izaya has gotten away with something, reaches out to plant one hand flat on the other’s chest and leans down to pin him in place while the blond hisses against Izaya’s mouth.

“ _Izaya-kun_.” Shizuo always gets like this, incoherent with seething rage he can’t quite express directly; it makes Izaya laugh before he angle one knee up between Shizuo’s legs so he can press against the front of the blond’s pants.

“I love the way you say my name,” he purrs, leaning up so the words bump against Shizuo’s mouth. The blond hisses, shoves down so hard for a moment Izaya can’t get his breath; he’s still shaking with silent laughter when the other man pulls up and away, although he doesn’t lift his hand to allow Izaya more than shallow breaths.

“I hate you,” Shizuo says, but Izaya can feel him going hard against the other’s leg as he stares down with the light of the city in his eyes. “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anything.”

“It’s almost as good as love, then, isn’t it?” Shizuo’s holding him in place but Izaya’s hands are still free; he angles one behind him, moving with graceful slowness so Shizuo won’t see what he’s doing. “Mutual hate, it’s almost romantic.”

It’s easy to get the knife free, slightly harder to time the motion of his wrist. But Izaya’s done this enough that the whip-quick snap of his hand from behind his back coincides with the click of the blade settling into place, and when he swings he aims for the arm pinning him down instead of the skin he can’t quite reach from his current angle. Shizuo tries to jerk away but doesn’t let go, and Izaya can feel the blade catch and tear through fabric and skin alike before the blond can get his free hand around Izaya’s wrist and drag the weapon out away from him.

“Your shirt’s ruined,”Izaya points out, watching the trickle of blood stain the torn fabric. “You should take it off.”

“Is that what you want?” Shizuo demands. He twists back on Izaya’s wrist, sharp and against the angle of the joint until the other winces in pain. “Drop it or I’ll break your wrist.”

“You could do it anyway,” Izaya points out, but he loosens his fingers anyway to let the weapon hit the mattress. “I can’t stop you, right now.”

Shizuo lets his wrist go, sweeps the knife off the bed so it clatters on the floor. “You don’t have any more of those.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he’s reaching for the front of Izaya’s dark jeans like he’s planning to strip him to make sure.

Izaya’s not opposed to that, so he only offers token resistance, wiggles against the hand on his chest and rocks up against Shizuo’s fingers at his waist until the blond hisses at him and pulls so hard at the zipper the fabric starts to tear. Izaya can feel Shizuo’s hands shaking with adrenaline, the threat of violence just under the surface, and he’s humming with anticipation of satisfaction even before the blond jerks the edge of his jeans down off his hips.

“I hate you,” Shizuo says again as the dark cool of the air hits Izaya’s bare skin. It would be cold if it weren’t for the heat of that hand pinning him down to the bed, but Izaya can feel Shizuo’s burning blood radiating out into him from that point of contact.

“I hate you too,” Izaya grins, kicking his legs free of his pants so he can bring his foot up and press his toes against the front of Shizuo’s pants. “ _Shizu-chan_.”

The blond groans, shoves down harder against Izaya’s chest. “Don’t  _call_  me that.” But he’s rocking against the other’s foot in instinctive pleasure, Izaya can feel the shape of his cock through his pants when he curls his toes.

“I’m going to call you whatever I want,” he says. “You’re still wearing your shirt.” He reaches out to touch the torn sleeve and catch the blood on his fingers; Shizuo hisses at him, bares his teeth so they catch the light, and Izaya laughs and brings his hand to his mouth to lick the color off. “You should really take that  _off_.”

Izaya’s planning to wiggle free of Shizuo’s hold as soon as the blond leans back. He can still get at the knife on the floor if he’s fast enough, and speed is his primary advantage. So he waits until the other man has pulled away a bit, is distracted by working the buttons on his shirt open, and while Shizuo is looking down and not at Izaya he pushes sideways, intending to upset Shizuo’s hold on him and break free.

Except he doesn’t. He pushes against the mattress, as planned, but the hand on his chest doesn’t shift so much as an inch. The only reaction he gets is a growl from Shizuo; the blond doesn’t even look up at him.

“Hold  _still_.” He’s got his vest open now, is halfway down his shirt, and he appears to be entirely caught up in what he’s doing, like pinning Izaya to the bed one-handed is trivial. There’s a chill of realization that hits Izaya, the stomach-dropping awareness that he has miscalculated, that he may not be  _able_  to get free of Shizuo’s hold.

Still. He’s able to muster a laugh that sounds sincere enough, that makes Shizuo’s teeth grit with irritation even though he still doesn’t look up. “Can’t you take a little struggling?” he teases, moving again while maintaining a smirk that belies the fact that when he shoves at Shizuo’s arm he’s throwing his whole strength into the attempt.

“You’re a fucking  _pest_.” Shizuo shrugs his shirt off one shoulder, lets Izaya go for a moment so he can switch hands. The other man tries to take advantage of the gap to move but Shizuo’s too fast, has him back down against the bed and breathless from the impact of the blond’s hand while Shizuo lets the blood-stained shirt and vest drop to the floor. “I  _hate_  you.”

It’s a common declaration; on its own it wouldn’t be more than flirtation, usually. But in the dark Shizuo’s hair is throwing his face into shadow even when he pulls his sunglasses free and tosses them aside, and Izaya can’t get  _away_  even when he tries, and his breath is coming faster in a weird combination of panic and arousal until he can’t decide which is winning out.

Izaya’s trying to maintain at least the appearance of composure, force his lips into a smirk and his eyes into a taunt, but something makes it through, at least enough that Shizuo pauses, looking down at him like he’s only just realizing their situation. Izaya has another chill, of foreboding this time, and then Shizuo asks, “Are you  _scared_?”

Izaya opens his mouth to deny it, to punctuate with a derisive laugh, and Shizuo shoves down so he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air into his lungs and certainly can’t speak. Izaya huffs breathless protest, shoves at Shizuo’s hand -- still just one, he’s holding back all Izaya’s efforts  _casually_  -- but there’s no motion, Shizuo doesn’t even blink.

“You’re  _scared_ ,” Shizuo says again, like he’s savouring the words, and lets up on the pressure so Izaya can take a desperate inhale. “You can’t get away, can you?” He leans in closer, until the shadow of his eyes resolves and Izaya can see the usual brown irises turned black by darkness. “I can do whatever I want to you.”

Something in Izaya shivers, some part of his brain he didn’t think he  _had_  anymore trembles adrenaline under his skin and an involuntary tremor through his body. When he opens his mouth he whimpers instead of speaking, wordless panic winning out over his usual coherency. But Shizuo is close,  _too_  close, Izaya can feel him breathing hard like he always is when Izaya’s around, and even with fright cold and unfamiliar in his blood the  _novelty_  of the sensation is enough to catch Izaya’s interest.

It’s not like Shizuo won’t notice. It still takes him longer than Izaya expects; the blond is still staring down at him, looking like a dog that finally caught a cat and doesn’t know what to do with it, when Izaya’s self-control goes and he rocks up off the mattress to grind himself against the blond’s hip. Shizuo startles back, jerks away before he looks down, and then there’s a beat of silence before he starts to laugh.

“ _Izaya-kun_ ,” he purrs, and for the first time since they met it sounds more like a taunt than an exclamation of rage. He reaches down to close his fingers around Izaya’s cock, tightens his grip just past the point of comfort, until Izaya’s more than a little afraid he’s not going to stop. Even when he does the strength in his hold is palpable, hovering just barely under control like a threat or a promise or both.

“You like this,” Shizuo says, and pulls his hand up over Izaya’s length. Izaya runs the fastest calculation he has ever done in his life, considering his situation and his arousal and Shizuo’s amusement, and what he comes up with as a result is a groan of pleasure he doesn’t make any attempt to fight  back, coupled with a smirk and another push against Shizuo’s pants.

“So do you,” he says, and the blond growls and rocks against the pressure without making any attempt to deny it. “Tell me where the lube is and you can fuck me.”

“No fucking way,” Shizuo hisses, punctuating with another stroke of his hand so Izaya’s not even particularly irritated by the refusal. “I’m not stupid enough to let you back up now I’ve got you here.”

“There’s a surprise,” Izaya needles, and when Shizuo’s fingers tighten over into pain for a moment he’s expecting it, just laughs at the blond. “Are  _you_  going to get it, then?” He pushes harder with his foot, hard enough that Shizuo hisses and flinches back into a more comfortable range. “Or should we just jerk each other off like this?”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo growls, but he moves sideways, away from Izaya’s foot, and lets his hold go so he can drop down to lay over the other man and free his hands to stretch for the table up at the head of the bed. Izaya might be able to get free now but he’s too invested at this point, and with this angle it’s easy to wrap one arm up around so he can reach Shizuo’s back and drag his fingernails down the blond’s skin, lift his head to the other’s chest and flick his tongue hard against a nipple. Shizuo shudders, one hand comes down to shove Izaya’s shoulder down against the bed, but Izaya’s already dropping back, laughing at the blond’s reaction even as Shizuo closes his fingers on the lube and comes back to replace his hand on the other’s chest.

“This is  _fun_ ,” Izaya says while Shizuo tries to get the bottle open one-handed. He hesitates for a moment; then he upends it over Izaya’s hip, lets the liquid pool against the other’s skin so he can draw his fingers through it without letting his hold go. Izaya doesn’t protest, doesn’t even wiggle much, other than to get his feet down on the bed so he can arch up off the mattress invitingly.

Shizuo doesn’t hesitate to take his implicit offer, doesn’t give any kind of warning beyond a growl of frustrated anticipation before his fingers drag against Izaya’s skin and he twists his hand hard to shove into the other. It’s too fast and too much, the pressure makes Izaya hiss and fall back to the mattress, but Shizuo doesn’t pause, is starting to thrust his hand into a sloppy rhythm even before Izaya can manage to laugh, “You lack subtlety as always, Shizu-chan.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shizuo hisses, and shoves his hand in hard enough that Izaya’s words die into a groaning whine of sensation. “You can go find someone else if you have a problem with me.”

“I never said that,” Izaya protests with all the innocence he can muster. “I --”

Shizuo shifts the angle of his hand, thrusts in so his fingers just bump against where Izaya wants them, and for a breath his thought evaporates. “ _Shizu-chan_. I like your lack of elegance. It’s --” Again. Shizuo must have noticed his reaction last time. Izaya’s vision fractures for a minute this time. “ _Ah_. It’s  _animalistic_.”

“ _Fuck_  you,” Shizuo snaps, and jerks his hand back so Izaya is left gasping with the lack of sensation while the blond pulls the front of his pants open with one hand. “You don’t deserve any better.”

“Mm, I know,” Izaya croons. Shizuo gets his pants open, reaches for the spill of lube at Izaya’s hip, and Izaya gets his foot back up to curl his toes against Shizuo’s cock directly. The blond grunts, Izaya can feel the twitch of his reaction against his skin, and then he slaps Izaya’s foot away so he can stroke liquid over himself. Izaya grins, reaches down to imitate Shizuo and start to drag slow friction over himself. “You’re just giving me what I deserve, it’s not that you  _like_  fucking me into your mattress.”

A hand slams down alongside Izaya’s head, so close that the motion ruffles against his hair. “ _Izaya-kun_ ,” Shizuo growls in clear warning, but Izaya just tips his head back so Shizuo can see the way his laughter shivers in his throat.

“What a chore,” he goes on while Shizuo hisses incoherently over him, angles himself to line up with Izaya’s hips. “It’s awful for you, to have to --” Shizuo thrusts forward mid-sentence, cuts off Izaya’s breath for a minute with a shudder of too-much sensation as he slides into the other. “To have to fuck me,” he picks back up, sounding only a little breathless, and keeps talking while Shizuo grabs at his shoulder to hold him steady and starts thrusting into him with no attempt at any sort of rhythm. Izaya can feel how hard Shizuo’s breathing against his shoulder, even with the blond’s head tipped down so Izaya can’t see his face. “You don’t think about me at  _all_ , when I’m not here.” He sets his fingers against Shizuo’s back, scratches another set of lines against his skin; Shizuo doesn’t even pause, just hisses in reaction and bites at Izaya’s shoulder until the skin breaks under his teeth.

Izaya’s breathing is starting to come faster. Shizuo’s not trying to draw any particular reaction from him, but he doesn’t have to be deliberately trying to succeed, and Izaya hasn’t slowed the pull of his hand over himself. His hand at Shizuo’s back goes a little more gentle; this time when he drags it down he doesn’t even break the skin, and when he speaks it sounds more like a purr than a taunt. “You don’t fantasize about me gasping under you like this, do you,  _Shizu-chan_.” The hand at his shoulder goes viciously tight, Shizuo makes a sound against his skin that sounds like denial, but he’s moving faster, too, like Izaya’s words are turning his blood to steam. “You  _never_  imagine it’s me jerking you off when you’re alone, not even for a  _minute_.” When he tips his head up he can just reach Shizuo’s shoulder, can trail his tongue over the tension under the blond’s skin and taste the salt clinging to him. “You don’t remember how I taste and you don’t think about the sound of my laugh and you don’t picture my face.” Izaya’s starting to rock up without meaning to, pushing into the friction of his hand and the force of Shizuo against him. His breathing is coming too fast, his throat starting to close around the tension climbing in his body, and he can feel the press of Shizuo’s hand holding him to the bed, the inescapability of the other’s hold locking him in place. “You -- you don’t say my name, when -- when you come, do you.” He’s starting to lose coherency, starting to lose focus, but it’s easy to shape his mouth around the familiar taunt as his body begins to spasm into orgasm so his moan of pleasure comes out “ _Shizu-chan_.”

Shizuo growls against Izaya’s skin, doesn’t pause the thrust of his hips as the other comes. Izaya can feel the shake of heat under the blond’s skin as he gasps himself back into coherency, the spasming tension in the fingers on his shoulder and the mouth shoved desperately against his shoulder, as if that’s going to hide what Izaya knows is coming. He lets himself go, brings his sticky hand up to tangle his fingers into Shizuo’s hair, and purrs, “ _Do_  you?”

Shizuo tries to hold it back. Izaya can feel the attempt close his throat off, can feel the determination in the hand on his shoulder and the fingers splayed over his chest even as the blond starts to shudder into orgasm. But it’s inevitable, as inevitable as any of the rest of this, and when Izaya drags his fingers over Shizuo’s scalp the other man groans, a desperate sound into his shoulder, and it clearly pulls into the syllables of Izaya’s name before Shizuo can close his mouth on the noise.

Izaya starts to laugh in earnest then, keeps laughing even when Shizuo shoves him against the bed and pulls away like he can’t stand to be touching the other even a moment longer.

“I know you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya laughs as the blond stomps out of the room. “Your body always betrays your intentions eventually.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Shizuo shouts back.

It’s a long time before Izaya stops laughing.


End file.
